Sensorium
by Isolith
Summary: A journey of self-discovery for Andrew Flynn pertaining to Sharon Raydor.


**SENSORIUM**

 _Summary: A journey of self-discovery for Andrew Flynn pertaining to Sharon Raydor._

 _A/N: This was written as a gift for the lovely Sarah-Jane._

 _A/N2: Also, I hope you all enjoy this. =)_

…

 _/Vision/_

The seemingly effortless way the woman turned perfectly balanced on one high heel and punched the scumbag square in the middle of his face, made it hard for Andy to entertain anything but improper thoughts. Her body was like a flexible pillar as she put her entire body into that punch, her shoulders aligned in a skew curve while her right arm moved fluidly forward until her clenched fist connected with the, now, screaming man's face.

Like water circling an open drain, his thoughts centered on one treacherous point; she was devastatingly good-looking. That thought stood high and precariously on a mountain peak, caught in one indecisive moment between falling into an unchartered abyss and back into an old well-acquainted terrain of resentment. It must be the sight of her punching the living daylights out of the dirtbag when she normally was always in such control of herself, which had him in a twist. The offending gun, loosely held by the criminal, fell with a clang, scraping the asphalt instead of being discharged and thus disaster was averted in one glorious moment of swiftness and efficiency.

The way she turned around and fixed him with a look over her shoulder as she kicked the gun away from the criminal, one eyebrow raised and lips poised to resemble smug arrogant playfulness, was another undoing for any decent thoughts. An open unspoken dare, he figured, as he took in her appearance. Her armor shone villainously black, tailored and draped to accommodate a presence that set him, and everyone else, on edge. With that look in the depths of her eyes, burning with an unspoken question, she caught him thoroughly unaware.

It was the first time he had seen Raydor out in the battlefield of police work.

The sight of her sucker-punched him in his gut as surely as if she had punched him like the idiot now sprawled on the asphalt holding onto his bleeding nose. But instead of her fist, it was the combined weight of Andy's surprise at the scene and the thoughts that brought out images from within his own twisted, dark place. At first they came into life like a wisp of air, whispering and teasing, only to gain weight and make him loose his breath.

The look deep beyond her usual professional mask, a split second sight into her soul, barred and naked for him, shadowed his dreams for days. It roamed at the edge of consciousness, lingering like an aftertaste, demanding more. At night, the moment his eyes closed and his head hit the pillow; his dreams evoked an innate desire among an underlying sense of danger, and at the center of it all, her eyes blazed like fiery flames. In his dreams, she engulfed him, swallowed him up, a raging wild fire that only left ashes and soot in its wake.

For some time, Andrew Flynn woke up bathed in sweat, throat raw, breath perturbed and utterly annoyed at finding himself with a throbbing hard-on, the image of Sharon Raydor burnt irrevocably into the hard-drives of his brain.

 _/Audition/_

The way fire ate away at wood, hissing and crackling vapor, was distinctive. The way waves crashed against the shoreline, an everlasting loop, was distinctive. The way his own heartbeat sounded after strenuous workout, resonating within his own body, was distinctive. More so, the way Sharon Raydor's voice transcended mere vocals, soft or strong, was distinctive.

There was a delicacy to it. To the way she inflected a word or two in a sentence, to how she paused, theatrically, and to how she snuck in an expletive in otherwise calm tones. There was an elegance posed at the forefront with her voice, but he was ever vigilant, as underneath the elegance, danger laid ever present. With a few well-chosen words she could inflict either pain or pleasure. At this time in their acquaintance, Andrew Flynn likened her to a snake basking on hot stones in the warmth of the sun, calm and tranquil until you stepped into her territory; then it was bared fangs and venomous words.

Even if her voice coalesced into condescending tones, his name on her lips was never touched by even a little grain of indifference. The way she let tones curl around his name enticed him like a spicy undercurrent; tingling and beguiling. At times, the punctuation she put on his rank was an intimate whisper full of promise, and at other times, it was firm with rebuke. Whether she was annoyed or pleased, her exasperation crept into his name, and her mirth put careful tendrils around each letter, caressing.

It was like foreplay to him.

"Lieutenant Flynn," the woman said now as she strode towards him in the long corridor outside the squadroom of Robbery/Homicide. Those two words identifying him, was drenched in a warm, hot feeling of discontent. The words struck against his skin. In the tone was an unspoken warning, the silence that followed her heated greeting, deafening. She was a vengeful storm hidden behind a façade of calm and it so happened he had an unhealthy predilection for disturbing calm waters.

"Lieutenant Raydor," Andy said back with a purposeful look at her figure.

She made a small noise like a breath being expelled against her will, her eyes narrowing in further annoyance.

"I have a perfectly good explanation," Andy let her know, a cautious look thrown over his shoulder. The corridor was thankfully empty. The last thing he needed was an audience for the reprimand that was bound to follow her expression and tone.

"I certainly hope so," she replied without missing a beat, her tone changing before his eyes, a small string of amusement creeping into the tones of disdain.

She crossed her arms and displayed an impatient tug at the corner of her mouth.

The time it took to think about what he should say, what little lie he could get away with, her impatience won out.

"Cat got your tongue, lieutenant?" she prodded him with an arched eyebrow.

"Taylor did it," Andy blurted, his mouth moving into a pleased smile at the lie.

Lieutenant Raydor's eyes narrowed further.

"Funny," she stretched the word till Andy felt like squirming under her scrutiny. She continued, wry voice, "Captain Taylor said to blame you for the mess."

Andy spluttered, "What! That is – why, that lying piece of, I mean, I have never…," judging from her expression, it was a lost cause. Andy stopped himself from ending the sentence.

She shook her head, a slight play of amusement at his expense crossing her features. "You do realize it's all on videotape," she told him with a triumphant smile.

Andy gave a shrug and kept his emotions in check; he'd had no idea it was on tape.

"You can add whatever mumbo-jumbo seminar punishment to my list of never-ending seminars I am forced to attend. I am, unfortunately, already booked out for this month." he told her, defeated.

She sighed, a long drawn breath, "I am beginning to question the worth of those seminars. Perhaps you need an advanced course, hmm?"

"Or you could go easy on me, huh?" Andy smiled invitingly, "You know, forget it this time. Let it slide. Pretend you have more important papers to shuffle."

"Or I could recommend desk duty for the unforeseeable future," she quipped back, a biting edge to her voice.

He had hit a nerve with the shuffling papers comment.

Trying for conciliation, Andy offered, "What if I promised not to get into any trouble for the next…," he paused, trying to find a suitable time frame that would make sense, "- the next couple of months huh?"

She outright laughed.

It was a merry sound, her eyes closing and an honest expression of entertainment became evident in the lines around her eyes and mouth. The tones of her laughter filled him with a strange feeling; he felt his mouth tighten and then widen into a smile of its own.

When she opened her eyes, all annoyance was gone.

"Deal," she said, offering her hand to a handshake.

Andy shook her hand, beaming at his own ingenious plan.

"Talk about deal with the devil, huh," he added with a smile as he winked at her.

She didn't reply in words, but her answering smile followed Andrew Flynn all the way down to the squad room. Her smile followed him throughout the day, catching on the shadow of his own. She had a beautiful distinctive smile, he found.

 _/Gustation/_

Inevitably, in the light of the combatant, playful nature of their relationship and with the feeble excuse of mistletoe hanging around the office like a bad omen, Andrew Flynn ended up locking his lips with Sharon Raydor's in a darkened conference room.

A palpable tension had hung between them for the last couple of days, magnetic in some ways and antagonistic in other ways. If he were to describe his relationship with the woman, he would have to use contradictory adjectives, so it only made sense, that whatever propelled him towards her, would also be of a contradictory nature. That it resulted in him being ensconced in kissing her lips in a dark room, with a layer of 'forbidden' to it, was a surprise to him. It was reckless and left her usually immaculate lipstick smeared outside the confines of her lips. Her lips tasted of danger, lipstick and coffee, twirled together in a taste of enticement.

In the low light from the outside hallway, it was hard to make much of her expression, nonetheless his eyes fastened onto her features, intrigued by her in this new setting. The festivities of the Christmas dinner adorned her cheeks with a reddish tinge that also spoke of the glasses of red wine she had consumed. Full plump lips with smeared lipstick looked inviting in the dark, shadows dancing across her face in a play of uncharacteristic bewilderment. Andy watched her, hypnotized by her beauty.

She drew a shaky breath and it mingled with his own as he leaned in closer, her lips beckoning for one more heated kiss. Drawn to taste her again, he caught her lips, the kiss impossibly hungrier than before. She responded in kind.

They kissed, and kissed again, continuing like there was no tomorrow, their breaths quickening. They were insulated in the dark, free of consequences and reputations. All that could burn through the veil of shadows was an all-consuming thirst for more; more of her lips, more of her taste, more of her against him.

Not even the need for air made the kissing stop. The pressure of it built up in his chest and shot in a quick downwards spiral to his groin. For a brief second his lips left hers and she snapped for air and a second later, his lips were on hers again, their bodies moving backwards, stumbling as they were unaware of anything but contact.

A loud clamor from outside brought them both from their trances and they broke apart as if burned. Faint familiar voices reached their hideout and the effect of it was equivalent to being doused with cold water; reality came crashing down.

"This never happened," Raydor whispered hoarsely as she stepped away from him, her hands out with their palm up as if to ward him off.

Andy simply nodded, agreeing with her.

It was officially unofficial. They were caught between on- and off-duty in a strange setting where actions both counted and yet did not. Maybe it was the spirit of the holidays; of loneliness, of desperation that made them both reckless.

Whatever it was, it tasted ripe to Andy.

 _/Olfaction/_

A strange scent permeated the warehouse, reminiscent of hot summer days going door to door in moldy apartment complexes back in his junior years as a beat cop. The warehouse was eerily silent. Anticipation hung dense in the air like a breath waiting to be let out.

The temperature had been steadily climbing over the last weeks entombing the city in a layer of sweat and humidity. The warehouse was supposed to be long abandoned by the heroin smugglers that had used it as storage. It was far from. Andrew Flynn flung himself with full force into his boss, when in the periphery of his line of sight the reflected glare of an AK47 caught his attention.

From the moment he set foot inside the place, a prickling sense of danger had tickled at the back of his mind and now the threat was out in the open, visible and tangible. With his arms secured around her upper body, he flung both of them down onto the unforgiving cement so they lay shielded behind a large wooden crate.

The unmistakable sound of a rifle firing and a following bullet rain rang out the very moment their bodies were sheltered by the crate, the shrill sound of bullets making hard impact against cement ringing in his ears. Fortunately the crate stood its ground and the hardened wood held the bullets that would otherwise have sliced through and buried into their flesh. Instead of blood spraying, it was splinters of wood.

Lying on the ground, there came the characteristic smell of saw dust and heated metal, however more prominent was a sweet, sickening odor. As Andy lifted his head, he realized the sickening smell came from within the wooden crate.

Rotten fruit, he figured. What would criminals want with fruit once they had their heroin? The idiots had left the cargo behind, the stench of it not to mistake now. It moved low on the ground like an animate creature, angry at being left behind.

Next to him, Sharon Raydor squirmed and let out a small sound of pain. A quick sweepstake revealed no blood or other visible injuries, yet her forehead was creased in discomfort.

Provenza would say the action was sickeningly protective; a token of something that was beyond interpretation. Andy would deflect that it was part of his job – to keep his boss safe and sound. Only, he felt his heart beat in a panic-stricken rhythm at the simple notion that she had been in the line of fire. In the course of a decade long acquaintance, he had come to think of her – of Raydor – as more than simply Raydor. She was, in a way, dear to him – and he would hate to lose her to bullet rain. In fact, he would hate to lose her at all.

It was an epiphany that struck him now of all times, right in the middle of being shot to shreds by gun-toting drug pushers and with the smell of decaying fruit surrounding the towering crates like a dense mist.

Coincidence could not explain how his thoughts seemed to center around her exclusively. In her presence logic failed and what prevailed in the remaining chaotic thoughts and imaginings, was a powerful force of fondness. As unlikely as it seemed, Andrew Flynn liked Sharon Raydor on a personal level.

"Andy?" she whispered, her voice strained and her eyes seeking his out. There was a worrying component to the widening of her eyes.

"You alright?" he whispered as he looked back at her, forgetting to move out of her way. They were entwined in a fashion outsiders would claim was intimate. It gave him pause being this close to her. Instead of rotting bananas, her scent cocooned him up in a warm embrace of familiar femininity.

She nodded, "Just bummed my knee. I'll be fine. You?"

"I'm good."

It was a small moment, barely taking up enough time to qualify as one, but he filed it away for later perusal. The cover was only transient and they both needed to return fire, preferably before they were shot. With determined and practiced moves, they both pulled out their glocks, eyes steadfast as they agreed to a course of action.

In the aftermath, it was her scent that stood out to him even among the overwhelming perfume of putrefying fruit; the scent of her shampoo, laundry detergent and something else, was clear in his memory. Andy couldn't pinpoint it down but it snuck in beneath his skin and lingered for days; a remnant of her, like a ghost following him around, ruminating in the back of his head.

Andy decided, weeks later, that he might be attracted to her.

 _/Somatosensation/_

What was supposedly an inconspicuous touch turned on its head the very instant Andrew Flynn's lips chastely met the cheek of his boss, his intentions transforming like an unwelcome metamorphosis the second her scent enveloped him in a warm cloud of her perfume. The touch of her soft skin against his lips felt like a caress ensnaring him in an improper fantasy. If he had meant for it to be an innocent peck, a way for him to express the friendly joy of being with her, then on his part he had severely miscalculated.

With an inward sigh Andy realized that denial, or maybe ignorance, had kept him in a deluded grip. It was not curiosity and it was certainly not a simple infatuation. And definitely not a transient crush like Provenza wanted so doggedly to believe.

It was a much deeper and troubling plight. It was trouble with a capital T.

The kind of awkward trouble that would no doubt change the friendship he had begun to build with Sharon Raydor, who, by all means, still was a married woman. The kind of eye-opening trouble that had him consciously aware of her in every miniature, detailed-oriented way; trailing her movements and staring at her with a longing linger. The kind of intransigent trouble that would cause havoc on his heart.

The moment his lips met her cheek, the contact tore through him like a current of electricity, effectively tearing apart whatever lies he had been telling himself. Spiraling, he was on the precipice of succumbing to unease; heart hammering and vertigo settling in.

It had begun a while back; simple sharing of touches, an avalanche of inviting the other out as compensation for the previous outing, and then it had turned to a ritual of Friday evenings spent together, with a gallery or a game thrown into the mix of restaurants visits.

However much they might have started to encroach upon a different kind of intimacy than simply colleagues, this night was the first time Andy had kissed her cheek. The impulse had surprised him and here he was feeling inexplicably overwhelmed by her presence.

None the wiser, Sharon simply turned her head his way and he felt her breath ghost across his own cheek. Her smile was bright and unassuming, carefree in a fashion he contributed to a successful evening.

Trying to reign in his emotions, Andy took a step back even if he found it hard to break the contact between them.

Her smile was welcoming and radiant, intangible in essence but somehow it touched him as much as a real caress would, settling his heart with a soothing touch. Where he stepped back, she stepped forward, unaware of his awakening feelings, her hand reaching out with a simple touch to his wrist; careful and precise, yet a touch that anchored him, affectionate in its own right.

Like a warped game of hide and seek, love had eluded him for a long time and life certainly did not show him the easy way. It did not ease him slowly into realizing what she meant to him, no, life struck him down like a cartoon villain and let him fall face first onto the ground, leaving him there to ponder the pain of having thoughts about love. A love that was overwhelming, inconsiderate and hopeless. It had him feeling inferior; however, in a strange turn of events, it also filled his heart with ever-expanding warmth.

If not for the history of their pasts and their present circumstances, Andy would have blurted his love to her in that very moment. Oh, he wanted to embrace her; envelope her in his love, let her know the depths to which he would gladly go if she would only let him.

However much he wanted her, however much he wanted their relationship to move in a different direction, there were a lot to consider.

For now, simple touches had to be enough.

…

Fin


End file.
